Train of Thought
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: Doyle's adventures has its ups and downs


Doyle kept running but his lungs couldn't take in the oxygen he needed. He was fast approaching his limit. A bullet whizzed over his head, giving him a little more impetus. The Nesbitt brothers weren't people you'd want to cross. Doyle had kicked a wasps' nest, and now they were angry – very angry. Doyle had thought he'd managed to sneak away from observing their hide-away that night, but he wasn't quick enough and now they were after him. Doyle had to hand it to them, they were fit, bloody fit – and hard on his heels. He could sense their hot breath on his neck. No time to turn and loose off a shot. Another bullet and Doyle felt its burning graze across his left shoulder. A rail track was in sight now. He pushed forward with no goal in mind. His imagination as to what the brothers would do to him if they caught him was keeping him going. There was a bend in the track that disappeared into a tunnel. Doyle headed straight for it. What he'd do when he got there, he'd no idea. There was simply nowhere else to go. Another shot. Doyle's legs were giving out. He dodged into the tunnel but hadn't gone far when suddenly the headlights of an oncoming train blinded him. He ground to a sudden halt as his brain went into overdrive and his lungs retched for air. He had two choices – to keep going and into the path of the train - or to turn back, and into the arms of the Nesbitt brothers.

Doyle made his decision and threw himself onto the rail tracks. There was a deafening blast of the train's horn as the driver thought he saw movement ahead in the pitch dark. Doyle pressed himself onto the sleepers. "Sweet Jesus, Sweet Jesus," he chanted. A greater darkness closed in on him as the train crashed over him. His chanting melted into the rhythm of the train: clickity-clack, sweet Jesus, sweet Jesus, clickity-clack, clickity-clack. Further and further Doyle tried to press himself into the ground, the heat of the wheels scorching the rails. The stench of oil was choking him, the screech of the train deafening. Then there was a hiccup as the rhythm was interrupted, and then the train continued its song again but to a slower beat. Then a sudden scream of metal as the train applied its brakes. Doyle was too petrified to move his hands to stick his fingers into his complaining ears. Eventually the darkness lightened as the train washed over him and left him still alive and still terrified. After several moments, he turned his head tentatively over his shoulder and saw the tail lights of the train several hundred yards down the track. If he didn't move now either the brothers would get him or the driver would find him. He tentatively got to his feet. His legs were wobbling but they at least carried him. He exited the far end of the tunnel and made for the woods on the other side of the track.

It was raining now and the wind was cutting. Once inside the sanctity of the trees, it was a little drier and the wind no longer found him. He settled himself under a bush and waited, shivering with cold and shock. There were enough dry leaves around that Doyle would hear them crackling if his pursuers were nearby. Several minutes passed without a sound, except for the rustle of night creatures bustling about their business. Doyle was encouraged to push deeper into the wood. He had a fair idea of where he was and ploughed on in the general direction of the Halstead road. After twenty minutes or so he found it. The sweep of a car headlight rounding a bend too fast pointed him in the right direction. He still felt vulnerable, the thought of the Nesbitts gluing him to the shadows. He roughly followed the road, having to leave it now and then as he circumvented dense shrubbery, but he always came back to it. Eventually he found what he was hoping for, a public phone box. The road was straight at that point. Doyle looked up and down, his ears primed for any sound of an engine. All was quiet. The rain had even eased up. He emerged from his green sanctuary and made a dash for the box. It smelt as though it hadn't been used for years which, in this isolated spot, it probably hadn't. But Doyle's expectations were dashed when he heard the dull drone of a disconnected signal as he picked up the receiver. He threw it against the glass in frustration and leaned his head against the door. A van went past, reminding Doyle of his vulnerability. He pulled himself together and beat a hasty retreat into the woods again. He sat down for a while, leaning his back against the mossy bole of a tree. He was feeling very tired and hungry, his shoulder throbbing, and the scream of the train still echoing through his mind. He was tempted to curl up and try to sleep till morning. The temperature wasn't so bad that he'd freeze to death – yet. But common sense drove him to his feet again and he continued his cold and lonely march. Several miles later another box tantalised him. He approached it more cautiously. Some panes of glass were missing from the sides, but – hallelujah – the phone worked. He managed to get his numb fingers to dial HQ. Alex was relieved to hear from him. Doyle's op had gone belly up and he had been listed as 'missing'. Alex was more than happy to drag Bodie from his bed to pick him up. Not that Bodie was sleeping. He was still in his day clothes, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling trying to figure out where Doyle was and what was happening to him right now.

Doyle still felt the shadow of the Nesbitts on his collar so he again retreated into the forest. He settled himself uncomfortably on the wet litter, leaned against a tree and prepared to doze till his partner turned up. He knew it could be dawn before help arrived. After not too long, Doyle tensed as he heard a loud scuffling in the undergrowth. It was heading directly for him. The sound was too close now for him to do anything except stay exactly where he was and try to be invisible in the darkness. Eventually the walkers came into view – a family of badgers. Doyle nearly wept with relief. He'd never been close to wildlife before, except urban foxes, so was quite awed by the sight in front of him. The badgers were a lot bigger than he'd imagined. They shook the rain off their thick fur as they snuffled amongst the leaves. Then there was a chittering noise. The big badgers looked behind them without much concern, then their four cubs frolicked onto the scene. They were more intent on romping with each other than paying attention to the 'let's find food' lessons. It was much more fun to play. They rolled and chatted and snarled. One of them got a paw across the head from an adult for its inattention. Doyle couldn't distinguish male from female, but it didn't matter. He had a ringside view of their doings. He remained very still and watched as the family dug for worms with their huge claws, quarrelled over something else found in the leaf litter, and generally went about their noisy, badgery business. An invisible owl hooted in the darkness, followed by another and yet another. It was very eerie. After a while a short yelp broke the night. The badgers froze, their noses twitching in the frosty air. A second yelp, and closer this time – a fox. Sternly, the adult badgers corralled their offspring back to their sett for safety. The show was over. Doyle continued to sit and reflect on the wonderful sight he'd seen. He'd gone from a terrified beginning to a magical evening. He chuckled at the absurdity of his life.

Doyle was woken from a doze by an insistent tooting of a horn breaking the holy peace of his sanctuary. He got stiffly to his feet. The rain had intensified and he found that he was soaked through and chilled to the bone. He was awake enough now though to still be on alert. He cautiously broke cover behind the parked car, checking its number plate. Satisfied, he got quickly into the passenger side.

"Do you know what time it is, Doyle? I'm not your bloody chauffeur," Bodie started tetchily. He wasn't going to tell Doyle how relieved he'd been to get that phone call, nor how relieved he was to notice that his mate didn't seem to be limping or in pain, so he felt justified to let his feelings be known.

But Doyle saw through him, as he often could. He smiled beatifically, but then decided that his evening was too complicated to explain. "Home, James," he said pretentiously and stretched back in the passenger seat closing his eyes and reliving his bucolic evening; the train and the brothers fading into the background.


End file.
